Say My Name
by Tanya Tsuki
Summary: It's always Italy and Romano this, Italy and Romano that. Romano is Italy, too, and he just wants that to be acknowledged.


So far, the G8 meeting was no different from any other meeting. America was giving out ridiculous suggestions. England was disagreeing with him on everything. Japan automatically sided with America, and France wouldn't side with either. Russia kept singing to himself about how everyone would one day become one with him. Prussia, who tagged along wherever Germany went, was going on and on about how nations these days just don't know how great things used to be back in the day. Canada was sitting quietly, the only one paying any attention to Prussia, finding great amusement in the other's outlandish stories. Veneziano and Romano sat together, the younger Italian brother going on and on about something inane while Romano gritted his teeth to keep from going off on everyone. Germany kept trying to bring order back to the meeting, but was quickly coming to realize that it was a pointless endeavor.

"Alright, so, we're gonna build a giant robot to hand out food supplies to end world hunger!" America exclaimed, slamming his hand against the board for emphasis. "Next—"

"America, you idiot! You can't decide that arbitrarily! No one agreed to it!" England shouted, feeling his perpetual headache worsen.

America dropped his hand and sighed. "Fine! We'll take a democratic vote. England! Yes or no?"

England resisted the temptation to hit something. "No!"

"Great! One yes," America stated, ignoring England's continued yelling. "Japan! Yes or no?"

"I really don't think—"

"Two yeses! Italy!" America pointed at Veneziano. "Yes or no?"

"Ve~ Yes?" Veneziano guessed, not having been paying attention.

"Thank you, Italy," America said, genuinely pleased. "Three yeses! Take that England! Romano, yes or—"

"FUCK YOU!" Romano shouted, causing the whole room to fall silent. "Why is it always fucking Italy and Romano? I AM ITALY, TOO! I'm South _Italy_, damn it! ITALY! If you're going to call me Romano, fucking call _him_," he pointed at his brother, "Veneziano. Otherwise call _both_ of us Italy! Bastards! All of you!" His rant done, Romano ran out of the room, leaving a stunned silence behind.

"Was he—was he crying?" Canada asked quietly after a moment, his gaze still on the door.

"I think someone should go talk to him," England said, the others nodding in agreement. "Ita—Veneziano—"

The addressed Nation burst into tears. "Brother hates me! I knew it!" The younger Italian brother began sobbing uncontrollably, and the rest of the G8 looked to each other.

"America, you're the hero. Do something," England snapped, awkwardly trying to comfort Veneziano to no avail.

"Fine!" America exclaimed, turning his attention to the shocked German Nation. "Germany, they like you. Do something."

Germany looked at America in shock. "What? I—"

"_Allemagne_, go take care of Romano. I'll comfort _mon petit frère_," France said smoothly, moving over to the crying Veneziano.

"Like hell you'll comfort him!" England shouted, trying to shield the smaller Nation from France. In a slightly calmer tone he continued, "Germany, seriously, you're the only one who can talk to Romano without going insane. Just, do it."

Germany wanted to protest again, but upon hearing Russia offer to comfort Romano, he stood up and headed for the door. Really what was the worst Romano could do? The pain from headbutts fade eventually…and supposedly no one was allowed weapons in the meeting.

---

After leaving the meeting room, Romano had holed himself up in a small, unused room, which is where Germany wound up finding him after a few minutes of searching. Germany cautiously knocked on the door, not wanting to surprise the other.

Romano looked up at the knock and seeing Germany, snarled and turned away. "Just, go back to the meeting potato bastard. I'm fucking fine."

Germany hesitated for a moment before entering the room. Romano was most obviously not fine, but what exactly was Germany supposed to do? He didn't really know how to deal with most emotions and he was raised by Prussia who, well, let's just say he wasn't the best Nation to go running to for comfort, either. "Ro—Italy, you're not fine," Germany finally said, a little stiffly.

Romano tensed at the German's words. "What did you say, bastard?" There was no way he had called him that, right?

Germany sighed and moved further into the room, awkwardly placing a hand on Romano's shoulder. No head butt or bullet to the face yet, so he felt safe enough to say, "I said you're not fine, Italy. If you were fine, you wouldn't be hiding here."

Growling, Romano pulled away from the hand, turning around to stare at Germany face to face. "I am not hiding, bastard! Besides, why are you here? Shouldn't you be back there with Italy?!"

Germany resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. The shorter Nation was still glaring at him, and Germany had the vague impression that he really didn't want to break eye contact with him or else what little progress they had made would be broken.

"Half of Italy is here and upset," he said slowly, his blue eyes locked firmly with hazel.

Romano frowned, moving even closer to Germany. The taller Nation flinched, but never broke eye contact. "And just why do you care, potato bastard?"

"Erm," Germany stammered. Why did he care?

"Hmph. You don't care, I knew it. Just go back to the meeting, asshole," Romano muttered, dropping his gaze.

Eyes widening as he watched the Italian deflate again, Germany tried to force his mind to come up with something, _anything_.

Apparently his mind decided that imitating Veneziano would be the best thing to do in this situation since the next thing he knew, his arms were around Romano in an awkward hug.

"What. the. fuck!" Romano shouted, trying to pull out of the German's embrace to no avail.

Germany felt himself blushing, thankful that his current position hid it from Romano. "I-I thought a hug might help make you feel better, Italy," he said lamely. Any moment now he knew Romano would have a gun to his head.

Blushing as well, Romano felt himself lean into the embrace. "Whatever, bastard."

Then, as quickly as it had started, the two Nations pulled away, refusing to meet each other's gaze. "Right, so, erm, we should get back to the meeting, Italy," Germany said stiffly.

Romano nodded and elbowed Germany out of the way. "Don't ever touch me again, Germany," he muttered before disappearing through the door.

Germany blinked at the use of his name before following behind. That was the closest to a thank you he would ever get from the other Nation.

_(I've been asked a couple of times about what happened to Spain. What happened is that this is a G8 meeting, and Spain is not part of the G8 and is therefore not at the meeting :) )_


End file.
